


Eyes on the Horizon

by Neshomeh



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Search for a Cure, Spoilers: Companions Questline, Spoilers: Dragonborn, Spoilers: Filial Bonds, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neshomeh/pseuds/Neshomeh
Summary: Before Ethne and Farkas can leave Solstheim, Wulf Wild-Blood sends them on a mission close to the Companions' hearts. Spoilers:Dragonborn's main quest, "Filial Bonds," and "Retaking Thirsk"; also the Companions' questline and the conclusion ofSkyrim's main quest.





	Eyes on the Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working from the assumption that the world is bigger in "real life" than it's portrayed in-game. I've based the size of Solstheim on what I think is a reasonable minimum distance between the Skaal Village and Thirsk, two self-supporting settlements that trade and mix sometimes, but not frequently: about a day's moderate travel (8-12 hours on the move). The rest is guesswork based on linear distance on the map, the roughness of the terrain, and to a limited extent, the needs of the plot.

It had been a shock when they were confronted by Miraak's cultists the first time. Another Dragonborn? Nonsense; the Greybeards had told Ethne she was the _last_ Dragonborn, and they should know. If that weren't enough, she had fulfilled the destiny written for her and defeated Alduin, which was sufficient proof for almost anyone.

But she'd had worse shocks since coming to Skyrim. Learning her future shield-siblings were werewolves, for one. If it had been anyone but Farkas with her in Dustman's Cairn, she might never have gotten over it. The Circle were all a little intimidating to begin with; but it was Farkas who had first made her feel welcome in Jorrvaskr, Farkas who had entrusted her with her first job for the Companions, Farkas who had first called himself her shield-brother. She couldn't hold his lycanthropy against him after he had been so kind to her and only given up his secret to save her life. By extension, she learned to see the rest of the Circle not as monsters, but as Men with the spirits of wolves, much as she was a woman with the soul of a dragon.

She didn't fear the beast-blood as she ought to have done when it was offered to her. If one could be as sweet as Farkas, as clever as Vilkas, as sexy as Aela, or as wise as Kodlak, and be a werewolf, it couldn't be the terrible fate the stories claimed, she thought, and the gift of more power she could bring to bear in the fight against Alduin was one she could not lightly refuse. But no Daedra ever gave a gift without a price, and Hircine's price was blood. She had never known blood-lust before she was a werewolf, or loved to kill for killing's sake; but the beast she became found it easy to hate her enemies. Ironically, the joy she felt while tearing apart the murderous Silver Hand taught her to fear again. Further, she learned the terrible toll the wolf-blood had taken on her friends. When she and Aela were called to order by Kodlak, the first hot rush of the new-blooded had left her cold, and she knew he was right to seek the cure.

Seek it she did, and all the more fiercely after his murder. The wolf-spirit didn't care what it hunted as long as it sank its teeth into its prey in the end.

She first knew that she was in love with Farkas in Ysgramor's Tomb, when he confessed he could not face the frostbite spiders infesting the place. It took her by surprise—first that the man with Ysgramor's strength, who could stare down giants and dragons without flinching, could be afraid of anything; second that she wanted to comfort and protect that vulnerable spot as much as she did. They had been good friends up until that point, and looked out for each other like any Companion would look out for any other, but this was different. When he had to leave her there, missing out on one of the defining moments of their lives, she realized she wanted him with her always, for all the important moments, and it wasn't difficult to suss out that he felt the same—only he'd been too shy to say so, and Ethne had been too preoccupied to notice the subtle signs.

She made up for it in a hurry. Unlike the rest of her primal emotions, her love only grew stronger after she had rid herself of the beast-blood. She gladly helped Farkas and his brother do the same for themselves, and she proposed on the steps of Jorrvaskr not long after. There wasn't time for a proper wedding amid the enormous responsibilities Ethne had heaped on her shoulders, but they had the blessings of their shield-siblings, and while dragons threatened the sky and war raged across the land, that was enough.

Months later, the Empire and the Stormcloaks had come to an uneasy armistice and Alduin would not be eating the world anytime soon, but a new threat reared its head in the form of the fallen First Dragonborn, and Ethne had to face it. As in all things since they promised themselves to each other, Farkas followed her to Solstheim in pursuit of the rumor of Miraak.

They had seen frightful things on this quest. She had _done_ things that scared them both so much she still had nightmares about them.

And yet, somehow, the shock given her by Wulf Wild-Blood of the Skaal ranked among the worst.

It was evening, and they were heading to the Greathall to spend one last night in its warmth before beginning their journey home. As they crossed the village, though, a man stood up from a tanning rack and hailed them.

"The blood of wolves runs through your veins, Skaal-friends."

Alarm shot down Ethne's spine like a bolt of ice. She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to catch Farkas' eye. Had she just heard what she thought she had?

The troubled look on her partner's face told her she wasn't imagining it. But how could the Skaal man know anything? That chapter of their lives had ended before they had so much as set foot on Solstheim, and although she grieved for the faint marks of the curse she could still read in Farkas's eyes, she didn't think anyone else could recognize the signs for what they were.

She drew herself up and faced the Skaal man. His bearded face was weathered brown like all his people, and one of his eyes was milky with blindness. She gathered from his expression only an earnest desire to talk to them.

"What do you mean by that?" she said, trying to sound casual. Divines knew she had been touchy lately, and she didn't want to seem paranoid.

Nonetheless, he seemed to realize he had startled her. A gentle smile touched his lips. "Only that you have proven yourselves skilled hunters, and like calls to like. Might we speak a moment?" He gestured invitingly toward the warm fire near the butcher's pavilion.

She thought a moment. It was a long way back to Raven Rock and an even longer way from there to Whiterun, and in the most likely scenario, this man wanted something that would delay them. People often asked things of her when they realized who she was.

And as a good Companion, if the request was honorable, she almost always obliged.

She nodded. "All right, then."

Once the three of them were standing comfortably around the fire, he introduced himself. "I am called Wulf Wild-Blood, First Hunter of the Skaal. Might I have your names, friends?"

She glanced up at Farkas again. _Wulf_? It wasn't an unusual name for a Nord, but after that greeting, it struck her as too strange a coincidence.

Farkas put a huge hand on her shoulder, comforting and restraining. He himself had been mollified by the compliment to their prowess, and smiled as he replied. "Name's Farkas. This is Ethne, my wife. We're Companions of Jorrvaskr. Maybe you've heard of us?"

Wulf shook his head doubtfully. "Very little news of the outside world reaches us here. Yet, we have not forgotten the legend of Ysgramor and his Five Hundred, our ancient ancestors. 'Companion' is a fell name, and your own deeds speak for themselves. Are the others hunters and warriors like yourselves, then?"

"They are," Farkas answered with pride. "We fight so others don't have to, and we help people."

"That is good," Wulf said. "The All-Maker abhors unnecessary violence, but rewards those who hone their skills and keep the balance."

"What about you?" Ethne asked. "What does a First Hunter do?"

Wulf got that annoying look that all the Skaal did when the couple asked them about their ways: amused, but pitying, as though they were very simple children. "When we stalk large game, I lead our hunters in tracking the beast. It is also a way of saying that I am the most skilled hunter in the village. I doubt that an outsider could truly understand, but I hope my words have helped to answer your question."

Ethne clamped her mouth shut on a frustrated retort.

Fortunately, Farkas covered her lapse. "How did you become First Hunter?"

Now Wulf looked troubled, as though he wanted to say one thing, but couldn't quite find the words, and so settled on another. "In days past, my brother Torkild and I would share the hunt, but that was... long ago."

Ethne sensed they were approaching the point. "What happened to him?" she asked softly.

The hunter shook his head. "I wish I could tell you. He vanished before Miraak came, and I have not seen any sign of him in all the time since. He had a wild gleam in his eye, more than most. In my darkest times, I fear he fell in among the werebears of the glacier."

He raised his eyes to Ethne's, and she stared back hollow-eyed, rooted to the spot. This was far too much. He knew. She couldn't see how, but he had to know.

"Did you say were _bears_?" Farkas asked eagerly, not at all bothered. "I've heard of them, but I didn't think they really existed."

Ethne nodded, grateful for the moment he'd bought her to salvage her facade of normalcy. "I read about them in one of Vilkas' books. The author had nothing of much use to say, though." She scowled at the memory of Lentulus Inventius' disparaging comments about the Companions.

Farkas made a vindicated noise. He didn't care much for books to begin with, and still less as of his partner's dealings with the Black Books of Hermaeus Mora. He regarded the reading habits of his brother and his partner as a mystifying, now dangerous obsession.

"Oh, hush, you," Ethne muttered. She had to admit he had a point about her danger, at least. The lure of knowledge had drawn her deeper into old Mora's game than was strictly reasonable, and she was still sore about it.

Wulf politely ignored the couple's byplay. "Werebears exist," he said grimly. "Twisted beasts, a curse of Hircine. True bears are noble and great creatures of the wild, but the Daedra have no skill for creation, so they befoul the All-Maker's workings. I have seen men who, by curse or by heart's desire, become transformed into one of those vile things. It is a pitiable fate. And one that I fear has fallen to my brother."

Ethne might have felt his words as a barb, but the pain in his voice kindled her compassion, for Wulf and for Torkild. She had been there; she knew the damage that beast-blood could do to a person and their loved ones. In a way, she felt that made them kin. "You want us to find him. Where would he have gone, do you think?"

He shrugged heavily. "He set off from here so long ago, it's hard to say. Could be in Hammerfell for all I know. He went north from the village, but the trail is so cold." He looked down into the fire.

Ethne reached out in sympathy and squeezed the hunter's arm through his thick coat. "Is there anything else you can tell us about werebears, or about your brother? Why would he become one, if he did? That matters a great deal."

He answered reluctantly at first, but his grief spurred him on. "Torkild never felt the call of the All-Maker as I do. As we all should. We seek to live in peace with the land, but he had an eye for dominance and strength. For unnatural strength, you need look no further than the beasts of this island, mangled by the Daedra. I have heard of a tribe of them on the other side of the mountains due west of here. We do not hunt so far, so I do not know for certain."

"Thank you. I know it must be difficult to speak of this, especially to strangers." Ethne looked to her partner, who nodded. As two who had themselves overcome Hircine's curse, helping another such a one touched their hearts and their honor closely. As much as they wanted to go home, they couldn't turn aside from this matter. "All right, then. We'll look for your brother, Wulf. If he can be found, we'll find him."

A smile lit his face, but it faded almost as soon as it appeared. "In truth I have little hope that he can be found, but if you do happen to cross his path, be wary. He was a fierce warrior as a man. If he fell prey to his more bestial side, he could be deadly."

"So can we," said Farkas. "But we don't kill anybody we don't have to."

"My thanks, Skaal-friends. I will watch every day for your safe return. May your hunts always bring you game."

They clasped arms all around and parted, Wulf back to his tanning, Ethne and Farkas to the Greathall.

After having a bite and a sup to warm them, they amended their latest letter to Vilkas and the others with their new plans. They could never be certain that their letters would get back to Jorrvaskr before they did, but it was a way to stave off homesickness, and—though nobody said it aloud—a way to leave their friends with a notion of what had happened to them if something went wrong. That done, they sat shoulder to shoulder on a bench near the central fire and studied their map. Ethne had bought it in Raven Rock when they'd first arrived, and it had since been greatly augmented by the Skaal and by Tharstan, the historian from Skyrim who was also a guest in the hall.

"What do you think?" Ethne asked. "North, or west?" Farkas had been with the Companions long before she had even heard of them, and she trusted his instincts when it came to tracking wild animals and missing persons alike.

"Hm. There's no good way to go west from here overland, but there's just coastline to the north. We'd need a boat to get anywhere, and I don't know how to manage a boat on the ocean. Do you?"

Ethne shook her head.

"That settles it, then. An old, cold trail's no good anyway."

She took a breath and let it out slowly. "I was hoping you'd say that," she admitted.

"You were?"

"Yes. But I don't want to talk about it here. I'll explain when we've left the village." She began folding the map, something to focus on besides the open curiosity, tinged with concern, on Farkas' face.

However, he didn't question her, just laid a warm hand against her back. "All right, Eth. I guess we'd better get to bed, then. We'll want an early start tomorrow."

"Agreed." With the map dealt with, she looked up into the fire and sighed in not-entirely-exaggerated dismay. "Back to the mountains. Great." She shivered at an imagined gust of icy wind. It was spring, but the high reaches of the Moesring Mountains were slow to catch on. She felt her gratitude renewed toward Frea for the thick leather-and-fur Skaal coat and hat the shaman had gifted her. Soul of a dragon or not, her Breton blood still froze at temperatures her Nord friends laughed off.

True to form, Farkas chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll always keep you warm." He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

She couldn't help but smile and hug him back. "I know."

He nuzzled against her thick auburn hair and kissed the side of her head. "Last night under a roof," he remarked, his voice rumbling low.

Ethne felt herself flush. "We're not exactly alone here." Technically the Greathall was the house of Fanari Strong-Voice, the outspoken leader of the Skaal, and as a fellow guest Tharstan had a pallet there, too. The hall was a great open space without even the thinnest interior wall.

"So?" Farkas had grown up in Jorrvaskr, where privacy was often regarded as optional by the boisterous found-family of the Companions. They saw shame only in sneaking and trying to hide what one was about, therefore doing so was tantamount to an invitation to pry, so hardly anyone bothered. Pretending to be disgusted by the sordid exploits of one's fellows while reveling in every detail was something of a traditional pastime, especially among the younger members.

What with everything that had happened to her since setting foot in Skyrim, Ethne hadn't been around them quite long enough to get used to it. On the other hand, Farkas had a point about this being the last night they could count on a roof and a soft bed for a while. She very much wanted to be persuaded. There _was_ a low dividing screen between the storage space they were camped in and the rest of the hall, and Fanari had her bed in the loft above the communal space. Perhaps that was good enough to grant the illusion of privacy.

She turned and met Farkas' generous lips with her own, and when he drew her off to their corner under the stairs, she followed eagerly. In not very much time at all, they might as well have been the only two people in the world for all she cared.

They slept well after that, and woke with the first pale light of dawn. After a hearty breakfast with Tharstan and Fanari (who smiled knowingly but for once kept her thoughts to herself), they made their final good-byes to the Skaal and set out.

They had already packed for the return trek to Raven Rock, and they had all they could carry in gear and provisions: grains, nuts, dried fruits and meat, and a Skaal variety of pemmican made with horker tallow. It was enough. As _Dovahkiin_ , Ethne was unusually strong for her stature, and even toughened as she was by training and hardship, Farkas still made her feel puny by comparison. In any case, they were used to making do with little and less, even in the creatively harsh environs of Skyrim.

The sky was shrouded by thin, gauzy clouds, but the sun brightened them and the rocky, snow-dusted slopes of the foothills. The pair followed a well-traveled path west at first, but once they crossed the bridge over the deep hollow carved out by a fall in the Isild River, they turned south and began to climb. It was a roundabout road, but it was the only passable one from the village to anywhere in the mountainous interior of Solsthiem. Their goal for the first march was the Beast Stone. Now purified of Miraak's foul influence and free of Rieklings, it would make a good spot to camp.

They didn't talk much on the road—breath was better used for walking as far as possible before dark. Only after they had settled down for the night, fed and enjoying hot cups of herb tea by the embers of their cookfire, did Farkas speak of what must have been on his mind all day.

"So. You were going to tell me something when we were out of the village. We're definitely out of the village now."

"Yes." Ethne shifted in her spot so she was facing him more directly. "Remember that one night in Tel Mithryn?"

His brow creased. "The _bad_ night? Yeah."

Farkas had little truck with wizards. He had gone to his bed in their camp under the emperor parasols early, leaving Ethne to wrap up some business with Neloth, the master of Tel Mithryn, who was an expert on the Black Books and other forbidden powers. Farkas had woken with the moons high and ghostly through the perpetual ash-drift from over the sea, to find her still missing. Afraid that the eccentric Telvanni sorcerer had done something to her, he had barged into the great mushroom tower in full armor, his sword drawn and ready for blood. As it turned out, her fate had been nothing worse than an overindulgence in canis-root tea, but Neloth had kicked them both out after that, and banned Farkas from ever returning.

Ethne smiled wryly. "Well, Master Neloth can talk your ear off if he's in the right mood. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but he mentioned a group of witches who are supposed to live in a cave the same general direction as we're going. _Glenmoril_ witches."

"Glenmoril?" He frowned, then his eyes went wide when he placed the word. " _That_ Glenmoril?"

She nodded. "That Glenmoril. The same coven that held the key to the Companions' cure. I can't help but think... what if we don't just _find_ Torkild? What if we could do for him what we did for ourselves?"

"You mean fix him?" He looked excited at first, but his heavy brows drew together as he worked the idea through. It was a much bigger idea than it seemed on its face, and fraught with complications. He normally let other people worry about those kinds of things, since they could sort everything out much quicker than he could, but out here, just the two of them, he had all the time in the world.

"If we could do that," he finally said, "it would be a great and honorable deed. But we have to find him first. Then he has to want to be fixed. And then... we don't know if it works the same for other people as it did for us."

Ethne had, in fact, been over all of this in her own head several times in the course of the day, but she wanted to talk it out. "The way Kodlak explained it to me, the Companions got the curse through a deal with the witches in Falkreath," she replied, "so we needed the magic stored up in the witches' heads to release our wolf spirits. I don't see why there wouldn't be a connection between the witches and the man-beasts here. The island's not that big."

"But you don't know for sure." It was half a question, and he peered intently into her eyes for the answer.

She had to look away. "No, not for sure. But it's worth investigating, isn't it?"

"Depends. Did that bastard Neloth happen to say exactly where this witch-cave is?"

Ethne gave him a repressive look. Neloth... well, Neloth was objectively awful, but in a way she couldn't help but respect, and he had been of great aid to her in finding Miraak and the hidden knowledge she needed to put him down.

Which pretty well summed up why Farkas hated him. He wasn't about to change his mind anytime soon.

"Not exactly, but close enough for us," Ethne answered with a sigh. "He said it was in the shadow of Mount Moesring, west of where Miraak's Temple is now. We have to pass through that gap to get anywhere else, so we can keep our eyes peeled on the way."

"And what if we don't find it?"

She shrugged. "Then we don't. This whole mission could be a wild goose chase, but we both agreed to take it." She grew concerned. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No. It's a good mission. I'm just worried you'll be hurt if it doesn't work out. I can tell you're taking it kinda personal."

Her mouth pressed briefly into a line. "I suppose I have a bone to pick with Daedra treating us mortals as playthings." Especially herself. She felt she'd had more than her fair share of otherworldly machinations in her life. "But no. I know it might come to nothing. Torkild might be dead, or feral, or happy with his lot like Aela. Or, like Wulf said, he might not even be on Solstheim anymore. But no one in Tamriel knows more about this sort of curse than we do, so if anyone can find him and help him, it's us. I feel bound to try."

"All right, then." Farkas ran his hand down her arm and took her hand, letting her know he was with her even if he didn't quite share her feelings. "I'll follow you wherever you go, love. You know that. Anyway, you've had crazier ideas."

He smiled widely at her, and she knew he was just teasing her. She smiled back and hoped she didn't show how she took it to heart. With the best of intentions, she'd gotten them into some awful scrapes, like that business with the vampires in Morthal. He'd followed her faithfully through every one and never blamed her, but she held herself accountable for taking advantage of his devotion, even without meaning to.

A last breath of smoke rose from their fire, and they took it as a signal that it was time to go to sleep. Farkas banked the coals while Ethne tidied away their beaten-steel pot and cups. The last gleam of sunset faded as they crawled into the furs under their lean-to. Farkas curled himself protectively around her, his front to her back, with one arm pillowing her head and the other holding her securely against him. Ethne knew he was asleep when his arm slackened and his breathing settled into a low, steady drone. She envied him his ability to fall asleep so quickly anywhere, no matter what.

At least tonight was quiet, with only a light breeze rippling the canvas of their shelter. Cocooned as she was, it didn't touch her, and finally she drifted off.

The next day brought snow. When they woke, it was a light flurry that stuck only in sheltered nooks, but Farkas didn't like it.

"This'll get worse before it gets better," he said, gazing up at the clouds. "It's gonna be a rough day."

"Do you think we should wait it out?" Ethne sat as close as she dared to their awakened breakfast fire, squinting at the map. Unfortunately, looking at it harder didn't make a witches' cave magically appear.

"Nah. We know where we're going from here; shouldn't waste time. Unless you want to go see how they're doing at Thirsk?"

Ethne looked up smiling at the wistfulness in his voice. "I thought you said they were a bunch of cowardly milk-drinkers."

"Yeah, but they fought in the end, and that Elmus makes good mead."

Ethne laughed. "I promise not to tell anyone from Whiterun you favored something besides Honingbrew." She shook her head and turned back to the map. "You know, it looks like there's an old tomb or something here." She pointed out one of Tharstan's contributions: a spot more or less west of the village, almost directly northwest from their present position. "That might be a good place to look for the werebears."

He dropped down cross-legged beside her and helped himself to the last bit of porridge in the bottom of the pot, barely glancing at the map. "I hope we find them. Do you think they'll be bigger than us when we were wolves?"

"Hm, maybe." She was only half-listening, but then the penny dropped, and she gave her partner a stern look. "Farkas. We're not going to pick a fight with them just to see who's tougher, right?"

"Of course not. They might pick a fight with us, though, and then we'd show 'em—and maybe take a pelt to prove to everyone at home we really saw them." He grinned, completely unashamed.

Ethne rolled her eyes and folded up the map. "Stendarr have mercy."

"Yeah. On _them_."

She had to chuckle, and she let it go at that.

The morning was getting on, and witches and werebears wouldn't track themselves down. Working efficiently, they struck camp and got underway again.

The track they followed was familiar for the first few hours: it was the same way they had taken to reach the Temple of Miraak. Instead of turning north at the first sign of the ancient, carved stairs leading to the ruin, however, they continued west.

Dragon skeletons punctuated their way, grisly tokens of Miraak's betrayal of the order of Dragon Priests. Ethne felt sad for them. Most dragons would as soon blast her as look at her, eager to try their strength against the so-called hero, but she never liked killing the legendary beasts. She respected them, not only as honorable foes but out of regard for her strange, ephemeral kinship with them, and she thought their remains deserved better than to be left where they had been strewn by Miraak's callous violence. She whispered a few words to them in the dragon-tongue as they passed, and she thought she could feel their souls, claimed from Miraak at his defeat, stirring within her.

Farkas made no comment on this, but led on, setting a stiff pace while they were on solid footing. As he had predicted, the snow worsened as the day wore on. By noon, it blanketed the ground so that they had to watch each step or risk slipping on a hidden rock or patch of ice. By tea-time, it was a proper blizzard. The wind whistled tauntingly through the crevices and drove snow into their eyes, reducing visibility to meagre feet. Their progress slowed to a crawl, and Farkas paused frequently to check his bearings and cast about for a likely place to camp. Ethne followed doggedly in his footsteps, keeping as close as she dared lest they get separated.

Not a moment too soon for her, he took her by the elbow and turned her, pointing, toward two upthrust spurs of rock to the north. She nodded, and they climbed into a relatively sheltered angle between the spurs. Here the wind was less fierce, the snow piled less deeply. With a measured application of _Yoltoorshul_ , Ethne baked the ground until it was dry and warm, at least for a little while. A fallen branch that had been hidden beneath a drift became their campfire.

Ethne wasn't sure the Greybeards would approve of this almost casual use of the Voice, but she felt more confident in the justice of making a fire to stay alive in a storm than she did about altering the weather itself with Clear Skies. She had only used that Shout on two occasions, both of which were in the face of unnatural wind and fog; she wasn't sure what the consequences might be if she tried it on the natural weather of Kynareth. There were risks to any use of the Voice, such as being overheard by passing dragons and other foes, but even dragons weren't likely to be abroad in a snowstorm. Anyway, even Master Arngeir admitted Ethne's precise control of her _Thu'um_ , and what good was being Dragonborn if you couldn't even start a fire when you wanted to?

The blizzard continued for the next two days, forcing the Companions to stay huddled where they were or risk getting turned around. Farkas chafed at being pinned down and Ethne chafed at the cold and the wet, but they told stories and sang songs, took turns working out the kinks in each other's muscles, honed their weapons and oiled their armor, and found a myriad of other small ways to keep busy and warm.

When the storm finally broke, they spent another day hunting fresh meat to put strength in them and make up for the travel rations they had been forced to use. Much of the snow melted away in the spring sunlight, and on the fourth day, which dawned bright and clear again, they were able to resume the journey north.

Scant hours after leaving their refuge, they rounded a shoulder of the mountain. Farkas stopped suddenly and pounded a fist against his thigh. "Son of a horker!"

Ethne looked around in alarm. "What? What's wrong?"

"Just look at that!" He gestured broadly with one hand, shaking his head in obvious frustration.

She followed the stroke of his arm. "Oh!"

There was a cave a little below them, a stark, black maw in the sunlit wall of ice to the north.

"Just a few more miles and we could have been sitting pretty in there the whole time," Farkas groaned. "Icebrain, that's me."

"It isn't," Ethne said. She'd been looking more closely at the area surrounding the cave mouth. The snow was disturbed—unsurprisingly, something lived there. Furthermore, she thought she could make out the hard lines of a man-made structure through a nearby stand of pines. "You might be the most brilliant man on Nirn." He harrumphed at what he must have felt was undeserved charity, but she meant it. "Does that look like an altar to you? There, in the trees?"

He looked at her, surprised out of his self-recrimination, then in the direction she indicated. "It's too far to tell."

"I'm going for a closer look," Ethne decided. She shrugged out of her heavy pack and leaned it up against a boulder. She left her axe, too—she didn't want the handle banging into anything at the wrong moment. "Just to look," she assured her partner. "Stay here. If there's any danger, I'll come right back." Not that she was ever truly defenseless, but it didn't stop Farkas from worrying about her.

"Be careful, Eth." He dropped his pack next to hers and loosened his greatsword in its scabbard. "If anything happens, I'll come running."

She smiled at him, then turned and began climbing down toward the trees. Without all the extra weight of adventuring gear on her back, she felt wonderfully free, and the rocky slope presented no challenge. Before she knew it, she'd dropped to the base of the ridge and found herself at the edge of the wood. She crouched in place for several minutes, watching and listening, but only the wind disturbed the stillness of the setting. There weren't even any birds.

Confident that she was alone, Ethne jogged eagerly through the trees. She had been right: on the other side there were several standing stones of varying heights in a half-ring, and enclosed within was a raised stone slab. There was a body lying on it. As soon as Ethne noticed, she instinctively stopped and withdrew behind a tree, but still nothing living appeared.

She remembered to be cautious on the final approach, keeping one eye on the cave as she neared the altar. The corpse was desiccated enough by wind and cold that it was hard to be certain what it had looked like in life, but judging by the fair, braided hair, Ethne thought it was a Nord woman. Her body was covered in long gashes, but the means of her death was a gaping hole carved into her chest, where her heart had been. Dark magic had taken place here.

Ethne knew she ought to go back to Farkas now, but her eyes kept turning back to the cave. She had a good idea of what might be inside, and she wanted to _know_.

Treading as quietly as possible in her armor, Ethne crept up to the mouth. She was a lousy tracker, at least compared to the likes of Aela the Huntress, and the ground here was trodden into a gray, soggy mess, but she could make out the marks of at least one set of bony, betaloned feet. This close to the cave, too, she could smell a familiar sour, smoky odor drifting from within. She would have liked to see feathers to be absolutely positive, but she was sure enough: it had to be hagravens.

She thought about taking a peek inside to see if anybody was home, but she knew Farkas would come after her if she did. He could be impressively stealthy for someone his size, but not when he thought he was mounting a brave and daring rescue, and Ethne was not prepared to get them into a fight. She pulled herself away and returned up the ridge.

"I was right!" she crowed. "It's them; it's got to be. Witches turned hagravens, just like the ones in Falkreath. And just think: if not for that blizzard driving us up into the rocks, we might never have found them. Now there's really a chance."

She threw her arms around her partner, and he squeezed her back.

"I'm glad. I really am," he said, and she could feel the words rumbling in his chest. He took her by the shoulders and set her back a step, beaming down at her. "It's nice seeing you happy again."

The comment took her aback. Had she been unhappy? She wouldn't have said so, apart from the storm, but she got the sense he didn't mean that. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember the last time she had felt in a really good mood since setting out after Miraak.

The smile fell from his face. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No!" Ethne jerked her head up and looked into his ice-blue eyes. "Farkas... I'm sorry. I was just thinking. All this Dragonborn business... I know it can make me the worst company. Sometimes I don't know why you put up with me."

"Well... not many people who think as much as you do would put up with someone like me," he answered, the corners of his mouth slowly stretching out again. "We fit, you and me. It's as simple as that."

He cupped her cheek in one warm hand and drew her into a kiss, which she returned by putting both arms around his neck and pulling herself in closer. When they broke apart, their breath clouded more densely in the cold mountain air.

"You always say the right things to me, love," Ethne told him. "With or without words."

"Good."

Ethne reluctantly stepped out of his arms and went to pick up her gear. "So. Moesring Pass. Think we'll make it before dark?"

Farkas sighed and followed suit. "Maybe, if we don't run into any trouble on the way. It's a hard climb."

She nodded. "You know, considering the fact that it's the only way to get anywhere on this blasted island, you'd think someone would make easier roads."

"Hah. Who's gonna do that? Skaal? Reavers? Rieklings?"

Ethne laughed, Farkas joined in, and on that note they continued on.

A hard climb it was under the best of conditions, and it was made treacherous now by the weeping of the sun-warmed glacial walls rising up to either side of the pass. Glistening trails of ice melt weaved beneath their feet, and they had several slips, but luckily no falls. Once, they were startled by a noise like the crack of doom. They turned in time to see a sheet of ice calve away from the eastern side of the wall below them and cascade, sparkling, to the ground.

"Wow," said Farkas. Nothing more was needed.

The sun was beginning to sink then, and though they were tired, they pressed on as quickly as they dared. There was no place to stop before the top of the pass, and there was as much chance of finding trouble there as of rest. The first time they had come through, seeking for Saering's Watch, the pass had been held by a small band of Rieklings. Diplomacy had utterly failed, there being none among the Rieklings who could—or would—negotiate a safe-passage. Ethne and Farkas had given the hostile little cretins a good thrashing and run them off, but there was always a chance that they, or some of their opportunistic kin, had returned.

Sure enough, no sooner had they finally crested the pass than they were greeted with spears thrown within inches of their heads. The gabble of Riekling voices reached their ears and grew louder as seven of them came charging from their fortifications. They were back, and in greater strength than before.

"Bastards!" Farkas snarled, quickly shedding his pack and drawing his sword to meet them.

"No, wait!" Ethne grabbed his arm before he could charge in himself, then drew a deep breath and grounded herself to Shout. " _FAAS RU!_ "

Five of the Rieklings dug their heels into the ground, slid to a halt, and scrambled away, shrieking in terror. Several others who had remained on their suspended walkways and towers also dropped their spears and fled. Unfortunately, that still left some with strong enough willpower to resist Ethne's Dismay, including two warriors now right on top of them.

Farkas needed no urging to throw himself in their way. A single swing of his blade knocked one foe off his feet. He dodged a jab from the other's spear and stabbed at him, but this one was quicker than his compatriot, and he and Farkas began a lethal dance.

Meanwhile, Ethne dropped her own pack and pounced on the fallen Riekling with her axe, growling in frustration. If she had the full Shout, she was sure she could have turned all of them.

She dispatched her target with one blow, then hurried to help her partner, circling around until the Riekling couldn't face one without exposing his back to the other. In a moment it would have been over, but an animal scream alerted her to a new danger: three Riekling riders mounted on bristleback boars galloped toward them.

Ethne paid for her moment of distraction. The Riekling on foot saw his opening and lunged at her. His spear bit into her right thigh above her greaves and below the fur skirt of her cuirass, and she cried out as much in surprise as in pain.

But the Riekling paid, too: his attack left him open. Farkas ran him through from behind with a cry of rage and would have gone to his partner's side but for her warning.

"Look out!"

He spun around and threw himself to the ground, barely avoiding the first pass of the bristlebacks. Their riders pulled them up harshly and brought them about for another run.

Ethne stood over Farkas while he found his feet again, staring down the rider she chose as her target. She barely felt her wound, and she could take the riders if they were stupid enough to charge her in a straight line. Sitting astride their boars put their heads at a convenient height for her axe.

Then came the second charge. Ethne was ready, but unexpectedly, Farkas shouted "Down!" and pulled her by her weapon-arm to the snow. The air shrilled with a fresh volley of spears. Most came nowhere near them, but they didn't need to hit, only to leave their marks vulnerable to the onrushing bristlebacks.

Ethne and Farkas were up again in three heartbeats, but it was almost too late. The riders were on them. Ethne swung wildly at the leader, but she was disoriented, and she gave only a glancing cut to the boar, missing its rider. With the greater reach afforded by his spear, he landed a blow to her shoulder that sent her staggering, but her armor stopped the point.

At the same time, the second rider turned his beast aside in a feint that left Farkas turned sideways to the third, and the boar itself barreled into him with its blunt, curved tusks. His sword flew from his grip, and he tumbled to his hands and knees.

Ethne rallied and leaped at the third bristleback, striking at its bony head and driving the carnivorous thing back from her partner. Its rider stabbed at her, but she forced her way inside his range and knocked him from his seat, cleaving him nearly in half in the process. Her next attack bit into the bristleback's spine, and it collapsed, screaming. Her third and final blow to the back of its skull ended its misery.

Farkas had found his sword and risen again, but he was favoring his left leg; no doubt he would have a most impressive set of bruises.

The remaining two riders lined up for another run, and on they came. The Companions stood ready. There was no fresh volley of spears to distract them. This was curious, but they had no time to ponder it.

"I've got him," Ethne said of the leader, and there he was. At the last second, she stepped to his off-side and swung her axe. This time her aim was perfect: she struck him square in the face and he fell to the ground, dead.

Farkas squared off with the second bristleback and simply roared, " _Come on!_ " He braced himself. When it reached him, he seized it by the tusks, stopping it by main strength, and forced its snout down sideways into the snow. The rider leaped clear as the beast toppled, squealing.

"Take him!" Farkas shouted.

Ethne didn't need to be told. The rider leveled his spear at her, but she knocked it aside and impaled him with her axe's spike on the backswing. She dispatched his bristleback in the same way as the first.

The partners shared a triumphant look, but almost too soon. Before either of them knew what was happening, there was a clatter of hooves behind them, a spear whistled over their heads, and the first bristleback, the one Ethne had disregarded after killing its rider, screamed and collapsed to its side. Farkas finished the job by driving his sword through its ribs to the heart.

Ethne looked around to see who had thrown the spear. A woman leaped down from one of the suspended bridges and approached them. "Hail, Companions!" she cried, and Ethne recognized her.

"Bujold!" Ethne clasped arms with her in greeting. "Thanks! That was a good throw. Did you take out the rest of them up there?"

Farkas, having wiped the blood from his sword and sheathed it, came up and greeted her in like manner.

"Yes," said Bujold. "Luckily for you two, I was camped just a little way down. When a bunch of those cowards ran past me, I knew there must be a battle going on, so I came to help. Looks like you needed it." She nodded at Ethne's thigh.

She looked down herself and grimaced at the oval of blood staining her leggings down to the knee. "He just grazed me. It's not as bad as it looks." It still didn't hurt, though she knew she'd feel it soon enough. She was more concerned about her partner. "What about you? I saw that boar throw you."

Farkas shrugged. "Wrenched my knee. It's nothing."

Ethne suspected he would say that even if he'd been sliced open so deep you could tell the color of his insides, but she didn't want to argue in front of Bujold. She'd take a good look at him later. For now, she just nodded and turned back to the other woman.

Suddenly she realized Bujold was alone. She and her husband Kuvar had set out from Thirsk Mead Hall together to renew the blessing of Hrothmund the Red, Thirsk's founder, which sanctioned Bujold's position as leader. She had asked Ethne to go in honor of her help driving out the Rieklings that had stolen the Hall while the Nords of Thirsk were under Miraak's spell, but Ethne had bigger fish to fry, and so she had declined.

"Bujold, where's Kuvar?" she asked. "Did something happen to him?"

Bujold gave her a stony look. "He's fine. He went back to Thirsk alone."

Ethne glanced up at her partner. He looked as confused as she was. "It's none of our business, but—"

"No. It isn't," Bujold snapped. "I don't want to talk about it." However, she seemed to catch herself and softened somewhat. "Come, it's getting dark. You might as well share my fire for the night. If those Rieklings come back, we're better off together."

Ethne and Farkas retrieved their packs and followed Bujold through the Riekling fortifications to the northern side of the pass. They helped her drag one of the bristlebacks along with them.

While she butchered the boar, the Companions stripped off their armor and addressed their wounds as best they could. Ethne washed the cut on her leg with boiled water and bound it dry to scab over. Her shoulder was bruised where the spear had struck her, denting her spaulder, but felt otherwise undamaged. Farkas had bruises blossoming all up and down his left leg and the knee was swollen, so she wrapped it with linen strips to keep it under control and stable overnight. They would take another look in the light of morning.

Bujold generously helped them set up their tent and then fed them, since she was satisfied that she would eat for a week or more off the carcass of the bristleback. Ethne and Farkas didn't talk much, but fell directly into their furs once they had eaten.

"So," Bujold asked them the next morning, "what brings you out here? Not still seeking the All-Maker Stones after all this time, are you?"

"No. I freed them all, and I defeated Miraak," Ethne answered.

"After carving through swarms of demons of Apocrypha," added Farkas, who felt his partner didn't take nearly enough credit for her deeds. "And taming a horrible dragon-snake with the power of her Voice."

"Farkas," she quietly called him to order.

"People should know what you've done for them," he argued.

"Indeed," Bujold agreed, intrigued. "It sounds as though you have done much that is worthy of song since we parted. Will you not tell me more?"

"I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours," Ethne said. She didn't expect Bujold to agree.

However, the other woman surprised her. "Oh, all right," she said on a sigh. "Kuvar was right: I shouldn't try to hide my shame, and after all your help, you deserve the truth.

"You see... Kuvar and I traveled to Hrothmund's Barrow, just as we did when I first claimed the leadership before we were wed. We entered the great crypt, and the dark waters drained away as if by magic, making the way clear for us to approach the stone where Hrothmund's axe is lodged for eternity. With Kuvar as my witness, I grasped the axe's handle, and the spirit of Hrothmund spoke.

"'You seek my blessing for the leadership of Thirsk Hall?' he said.

"'I do,' I answered. 'It is I, Bujold. You blessed me in the past, and now I've rid the hall of Rieklings and returned it to its rightful owners.'

"'And well it is that this has happened,' said the terrible voice of Hrothmund. 'But I have always watched, and know that it was your softness that lead to your own exile.'

"I tried to argue, but old Hrothmund saw into my heart and knew the truth. I allowed my fellow warriors to grow weak while the dangers around us mounted. The leadership is not mine—'Nor is there any among you fit to serve,' said the spirit. 'For a band in the wilderness, it is better to have no leader than a poor one.'

"I wanted to continue to lead anyway, to simply not tell the others what happened, but Kuvar would have none of it. He is ashamed for me, and moreso because I would have deceived our friends. He... he banished me, my own husband, to run the wilds until I have regained my honor. He returned to Thirsk to give them the news, and here I am. Exiled again, and this time without even my husband to give me strength."

Bujold shook her head and fell silent.

Ethne didn't know what to say. It was a sad story, sadder because she agreed with Hrothmund's ghost. Thirsk was a beautiful hall that had reminded her and Farkas bittersweetly of Jorrvaskr, but the warriors of Thirsk were a pale reflection of the Companions. Even at their drunken worst, none of their shield-siblings would have ever stood for Jorrvaskr being overrun by foes, not for one second, Miraak or no Miraak.

And Farkas took her hand as if to say he would never send her from his side, either, no matter her shame. They would bear what came to them together or not at all.

"I'm sorry," Ethne said at last. "If we pass by Thirsk on our way home, we'll be sure to tell everyone how you helped us here."

"Thank you. And now it's your turn." Bujold leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me of your adventures since you left us."

Ethne let Farkas do most of the telling, chiming in only to add a detail he had not been present to see or to correct him where he was tempted to embellish the facts too much. She was not proud of her victory. In the end, it hadn't even been hers, not really. Hermaeus Mora had stolen that from her. She still felt sullied by the demon, its twisted realm, and the dark power it had left within her.

But Bujold was quite impressed by Farkas' more complimentary account of it all. "They will sing songs of you on Solstheim for generations," she declared. "Mothers will name their children after you."

"You're very kind to say so," Ethne replied somewhat woodenly. This sort of poetic Nordish praise always left her feeling too small and plain for such grand words.

"You're too modest," Bujold scolded her. "A warrior should shout her deeds from the highest mountaintop so that her enemies fear her and her friends know how fortunate they are."

"I'm Breton." Ethne smiled. "We don't have the talent you Nords do for boasting."

Bujold shook her head, smiling. "I can see it's hopeless. It's a good thing you have this one with you to do the talking." She nodded at Farkas.

This was so ironic that they both laughed. Bujold didn't know them well enough to understand the full extent of the joke, but grinned along with them anyway.

"Well," she said in the lull that followed, "we're all caught up, but you still haven't answered my question: what are you doing here now? Raven Rock is that way," she teased, pointing south.

After a brief visual conference with Farkas, Ethne replied, "Perhaps you can help us with that, as well. We're looking for werebears."

Bujold's eyebrows shot up.

"We've heard there's a clan of them in the mountains west of the Skaal Village," Ethne went on, "but we don't know exactly where. Do you know of them?"

The Nord woman shook her head. "If you were anyone else, I'd say you were crazy. Yes," she hastened to answer, "in Thirsk we have stories of warriors who sought out these creatures, either to test their might against them or to learn the secret of their power. Few of either sort come back. But why do _you_ want to find them? You cannot be wanting either...?"

"No," Ethne said. "We're looking for someone from the Skaal Village who may have fallen in with them, perhaps willingly, perhaps not. We're hoping we can pick up his trail if we find the bears. Maybe even take him home."

"Don't get your hopes up," Bujold said. "I'll tell you how to find them, but if this man you're looking for stumbled into their lair, he's either one of them or dead."

Ethne held her tongue and brought out her map. Her hunch had been a good one: Bujold pointed out the same old Nordic tomb that Tharstan had added, which she named Snowclad Ruins, though she remarked that his placement was a little off. The best way to get there, though, was long and circuitous. The journey would take at least two days, if they were lucky. Three was more likely.

"Unless you want to try climbing those." Bujold pointed at the craggy mountain ridges to the east, outlined brightly in the light of the young sun.

They did not.

They stayed with her all that day, giving their injuries time to heal before they began the next long leg of their journey. It was clear she was extremely lonely, and they felt sorry enough for her to make an effort toward cheering her up with further anecdotes from their adventures and songs to share with her friends when next they met. The three remained wary of Rieklings, but if they were around, none showed their faces. Perhaps they had finally learned to fear the wolf armor of the Companions.

By the next morning, Farkas claimed his knee was as good as new, and it did look well enough under Ethne's more critical examination. Her own wound was well closed, and covered with a poultice of dried blue mountain flowers and ash hopper jelly, a trick she'd picked up from the Dunmer alchemist in Raven Rock, it didn't trouble her at all. They resolved to go on.

"You'll pass Hrothmund's Bane on your way," Bujold told them. "A monument to Ondjage, the white wolf that finally killed the old bastard. Say hello for me, will you?"

They agreed that they would, clasped arms in friendship once more, and went on their way.

The first day was uneventful. They followed a path very close to the one they'd taken to Saering's Watch, but they kept further east to avoid White Ridge Barrow. Ghoulish white spiders lurked in those ruins, and the mere sight of them had been enough to render Farkas pale and trembling the first time. Ethne would have gladly made all giant spiders extinct for his sake, but it wasn't a good fight.

They spent the night in the cave just inside the entrance to Hrothmund's Barrow. It was a natural cave, but an unnatural warmth radiated from further in. Melted snow filtered in through tiny fissures above and ran steadily down the walls. Despite the damp, with solid rock all around them, soft furs under them, and a fire at their feet, they were the coziest they had been since leaving the Skaal Village.

"I'd like to see that water Bujold talked about," Farkas said, peering up the worn stone stairs leading to the tomb. "How would the old Nords do that?"

"Magic's as good a guess as any," Ethne said. "Unless the ones who built this place had access to Dwemer technology. Either one could explain why it's warm enough to _have_ liquid water here." She was curious herself, but it wasn't their place to go inside. Neither of them had the slightest interest in becoming the next leader of Thirsk. She made herself turn away. "How's your leg? Honestly," she added with a stern look.

"Sore," he confessed, looking at her sidelong like a boy who'd been caught stealing a fresh roll from the kitchen. "But it's not bad, really. I've had lots worse."

"I know that." She smiled wryly. "I just don't want you to be so brave you can't heal properly. Bujold said the climb to the Snowclad Ruins is a tricky one."

"I'll be fine. I promise. But," he added after a moment's thought, "maybe you should wrap it up again. Just to be sure."

"Of course, my dear." She hid her amusement by turning her attention to her supplies and pulling out the linen strips.

When she'd finished, he caught her by the hand before she could put the rest of the cloth away. "Your turn. How's that cut?"

He was giving her _his_ stern look now, which was nothing to be trifled with when serious, but she could tell he was faking it just to get his own back. Additionally, he was lying back on one elbow with only a tunic and a breechcloth on, with the glow of firelight playing across his body. It was a very pretty picture.

"Well, I don't know," she said coyly. "Do you think you should take a look?" She laid a hand on her hip, near the laces of her leggings.

His eyes followed the gesture and lit up with a grin. "Now that you mention it, maybe I should."

He sat up to assist her with the delicate operation of undoing those tricky ties. The pretense didn't last very long after that.

Ethne did tend to her leg before turning in properly, though, and checked it again the next morning. It was healing well and showed no sign of inflammation. She would have to remember to thank Milore when they were back in Raven Rock.

It was tempting to remain where they were, especially after making themselves so at home there, but their trail food wouldn't hold out forever, and hunting was a hard prospect now that they were above the tree line and only going higher. They said goodbye to Hrothmund and Onjage, and proceeded through the pass until they came to a trilithon where Bujold had told them they must turn southward again to find the ancient stair to the Snowclad Ruins. The elements had worn down the stones over the ages so that the stair was broken and crumbling in places, vanished entirely in others, and the way was steep. Snow flurried down on them from time to time, either falling from the sky or blowing from the peaks above them. They took it slow, pausing frequently to rest, and by late afternoon they reached the highest point of the path.

The stoneworks here were relatively intact. There was another stone slab arch marking where the stairs mounted a rampart on one side and descended it on the other. It wasn't much good as a wall per se, but as a bottleneck to strangle the advance of an enemy's numbers, it would serve. It also offered an excellent vantage point from which a defender could keep watch on the only approach, and a stunning view of the island in every direction but west, where the mountain continued to thrust up toward the sky. The sun filtered through heavy gray clouds and danced on snow, ice, and, far below, the whitecaps on the sea.

A little exploration of the site revealed the first sign that their quarry was close. They found one dead Reaver leaning up against the eastern pillar of the trilithon and another curled among the rocks below the rampart to the south. Both bore the marks of enormous teeth and claws that had ripped through their chitin and bonemold armor like paper. Tracks and bloodstains showed that they had lived long enough to crawl away from their attackers and die here instead of in the bellies of the werebears.

While no one wanted to share a campsite with corpses, the Companions decided it was still a better place to stop than anywhere else they were likely to find that day. If the bears had left these Reavers alone after mauling them, this was likely the outside limit of their territory, and the visibility was too good to pass up. They moved the Reaver from the top of the rampart and made it as clean as they could, scrubbing the old blood away with snow. One of them would keep watch up here while the other slept sheltered from the wind in the angle between the ascending stair and the mountain wall.

Ethne took the first watch, which passed uneventfully apart from the occasional sound of howling. It might have been anything—wolves, or trolls, or bears, or just the wind. She kept a grip on her axe with one hand, the fur wrapped around her body with the other, and tried not to think about how cold and lonely she was. When she could no longer stand it, she woke Farkas and crawled gratefully into the warm nest he left for her.

It was past dawn when he shook her gently by the shoulder and handed her a cup of hot wheat porridge. "I found some snowberries to put in," he told her. "Small and a bit tart, but they'll perk you up."

"Have I ever told you you're the best man in the world?"

"You always could say it more," he teased, and kissed the top of her head.

"Do you need more sleep? We're close; we don't have to hurry today."

"Nah. I'm eager to meet these werebears and see if they're all they're cracked up to be." He grinned ferociously.

She snorted. "All right, if you say so. Just remember we want to talk to them if we can."

"If we can," he agreed, but with great skepticism.

They broke camp and continued on down the south side of the mountain. The stairs vanished again, but the way was worn into the earth, giving them a clear path to follow even under a coating of snow. As they went, they came across more signs of carnage, animal and human, and Ethne was forced to consider that this might not go her way after all. They kept their weapons ready to draw and proceeded cautiously, alert for any movement or sound that would signal danger.

Because of that and because they had the advantage of higher ground, they saw their first werebear before he saw them. They were nearing another intact section of stairs, with the ruins themselves faintly visible beyond. A man crested the stairs and stopped to look around. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, of an indeterminable color, and he wore nothing except a ragged pair of trousers. Ethne thought his body might be even heavier with muscle than Farkas', a claim that very few could make outside the race of Orcs.

He spotted them standing on the slope above him and immediately dropped into a guarded crouch. "Go away! Only warning!" he shouted. His voice was deep and hoarse, as though he hadn't used it much in a long time.

Ethne raised her arms widely. "We just want to talk! We're looking for a man of the Skaal! You may have seen him! His name is Torkild!" Not for the first time, she wished she could figure out how to make Kyne's Peace work on people.

The man didn't answer, but stared up at them, shifting his weight restlessly.

"Ethne," Farkas warned. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

"Wait," she begged. He wasn't attacking—yet. He might not at all.

Her patience was rewarded. The man straightened up and called back to her, "Not here! Ran away north! Now, leave or die!"

But, unable to resist the call of his beast-blood, he transformed. His body stretched upward and the bones of his arms lengthened, pulling his flesh along with them. His muscles bulged, his face pushed outward, and all the while coarse, dark fur erupted from his skin. When the change was complete, he was twice his already impressive size. He lowered his head and roared at them with a noise that seemed to shake the mountain to its root.

"Run!" Ethne yelped.

"He'll catch us!" Farkas charged past her, sword drawn. " _Hyaaagh!_ "

"Oh—Sheogorath's fork!" _Damn the man,_ she thought as she hurried to drop her pack and help him. _If the bear doesn't kill him, I will._

The werebear came bounding up the slope at a frightening speed, and the two clashed before Ethne finished loosing her axe. Farkas brought his sword down on the beast's shoulder from above, and it didn't seem to notice. It bore him down to the snow with its jaws wide; but its momentum carried it past him in an awkward somersault, pulled sideways by gravity.

Then Ethne saw their real danger: the bear had friends. Two had heard his roar and come running from the ruin below, already transformed. She and Farkas could take one of the brutes, maybe two, but not three at once.

She skidded to a halt just beyond her partner and braced herself. The other two bears came running up the stairs. She drew her breath, focused, picked her time.

" _FUS RO DAH!_ "

Her roar was mightier than theirs. It blasted them off the slope and into the dark, chilly reservoir below the ruin. They were stunned, and the current pulled them slowly toward a fall spilling from the pool and down the mountain. Perhaps they would go over; she couldn't stand there watching long enough to find out. At the very least, she had bought some time to deal with the first bear alone.

He and Farkas had both recovered from their meeting and were circling each other warily now. Ethne wished she could Shout again, but she had put her all into the first effort and it had left her drained and panting. Not so much that she couldn't help, though. She closed with the pair from the side, hoping to push the bear up against the rocks.

That was a mistake. He saw the threat and answered it by charging her with a bellow of rage. A huge clawed paw came at her face, and she whirled and swung at it. Her foot slipped in the snow, and the blow that was meant to remove his appendage only gave him a bit of a shave.

"Damn it!"

The bear stumbled, though, and had to dig his claws into the ground to keep his great upper body from tumbling him further down.

Farkas came and pulled her upright again. "Go for the legs," he advised. "I'll draw him in."

She nodded.

He moved a little away from her and slammed the hilt of his sword against his armored chest. " _Hey, ugly! Over here!_ "

The bear bared his teeth at Farkas in a snarl and came at him on all fours.

"That's right! Eat this!" He whirled his sword into a point-forward defensive hold and thrust it at the beast's eyes.

The bear growled and flinched aside, then reared to his hind legs again, further removing his face from the range of the blade.

Ethne took the opening her partner had given her. As the werebear raised its forearm to swat at Farkas' sword, she dove toward it and hacked down at the back of its knee. She hit hard, snapping the tendons and splintering the bones. The beast howled in agony and collapsed backward. Ethne dodged its falling bulk, but she was still in range of its claws, and it raked her across the shins in retaliation for her offense. The Skyforge steel of her greaves screamed, and one leather strap was torn, leaving the armor flapping loose.

Farkas drove his sword down into the bear's skull with a crunch. Even then, it struggled on mindlessly and nearly threw Farkas off his feet. It took a second blow to finally end it.

"Wow," he crowed when it was finally still. "That was a fight! Are you all right?"

"I think so." Ethne sat in the snow and removed her greaves. The werebear's claws had left deep rents in the steel. Any closer and she might have lost a foot. "This one's a loss. Eorlund is going to throw me in the forge when we get home."

"He'll understand when he sees these." Farkas knelt down and set about slicing off a set of the werebear's claws with his hunting knife. "Look at the size of them!"

A roar from below startled them both. At least one of the other werebears had managed to pull himself out of the reservoir. His brains had been rattled and he would be sodden, half-frozen, and slow, but he sounded angry enough that Ethne didn't want to wait around to meet him.

"Now can we run?" she implored.

"Yeah. Now we can run."

The battle had carried them gradually down the slope. They beat their way back up as quickly as they could, retrieving their gear on the way, and didn't slow down until they reached the rampart where they had camped. The sounds of hunting calls in the distance pursued them all the way, and after a quick halt to catch their breath, they decided to continue down the stairway. When it turned toward the west, they chanced a rockier way more directly north in the hope of throwing off their pursuit.

Night fell, and they were forced to halt. Their first choice of campsite was a cave set off by a large, ancient dragon-head statue, but it showed signs of being inhabited by Rieklings, and the Companions had had enough of them for a lifetime. They followed the floor of the pass further north and east, and eventually found an out-of-the-way crevice near another trilithon that would show them the way in the morning. Again they set watches, and each slept only fitfully.

By the time dawn came, though, it seemed as though the werebears had given them up, likely once they could no longer sustain their monstrous forms. Ethne and Farkas finally had time and energy to assess themselves properly. Farkas' armor had taken damage, too, scored by the werebear's claws in its first lunge, and Ethne discovered a patch of dried blood in his hair where a tooth had raked his scalp.

"This should have been cleaned right away," she scolded, more upset with herself for failing to notice earlier than with him for not mentioning it, and hurried to boil a pot of snow.

"I didn't feel it," he said, probing the spot gingerly. "Ow. It hurts _now_."

"I imagine it does! You're lucky he didn't bite your head right off. What am I going to do with you?"

He frowned, stung. "Are you angry with me? I wasn't being reckless... he really didn't give me a choice."

She almost said yes, but thought better of it. She let out her pent-up air in a rush and patted his hand. "No, love, not really. You're right, he was going to attack us no matter what. I just wish it had gone differently. He helped us, too."

Farkas was relieved, and he nodded. "North again. What's north of here besides more mountains and the sea?"

"I don't know, but it seems like Torkild does." She brought out the map. "If we're roughly here... there's Saering's Watch to the northwest, but that's full of draugr and until lately a dragon. That cave we passed—Rieklings. Northeast, nothing."

"Nothing might appeal to a man like Torkild. He didn't fit in with the Skaal, and maybe he found out he didn't fit in with the bears, either."

Ethne agreed. "He wanted power, Wulf said, but perhaps he found that power too great and terrible for one raised to peace and harmony."

Farkas made a noncommittal noise. He didn't trouble himself much with philosophy or religion, but he found the Skaal strange.

"Well, we have our heading," Ethne said. "That's good enough for now."

When the water had boiled, Ethne made an infusion with her blue mountain flowers and used it to carefully sponge Farkas' head clean of blood. The wound was a jagged tear about an inch and a half long. Some of his hair had been torn out.

"And you didn't feel that happen?" she marveled.

"I was busy." His voice was muffled; he lay on his stomach with his head pillowed on her crossed legs and his arms wrapped around her waist. Purely a practical arrangement.

She shook her head, though he couldn't see it. "You continue to amaze me. That's going to scar, almost certainly. There isn't much I can do for it."

"I don't mind."

"That's not what really worries me."

He raised his head slightly so he could turn one eye up at her. "What, then?"

"Lycanthropy can be catching. You know that." She stroked his back, soothing herself more than him with the familiar contours of his body.

He made something like a shrug, awkward in his present position. "I don't feel sick." He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and nuzzled against her belly. "You could scratch back there, if you want to."

She smiled and obliged him. "I don't think it's likely to happen to us, but we don't know for sure that it can't. That's all."

"Mm-hm. Lower."

Ethne rolled her eyes fondly and reached as far down his back as she could, using both hands to really dig in through his thick wool tunic. He groaned with pleasure, delighting her, but she could only keep it up so long.

"Dear heart, I fear my fingertips are about to fall off."

He said something unintelligible, but grateful, and pushed himself up to cup her face in one hand and kiss her. "You take good care of me. What can I do for you?"

She could think of a few things, but decided those would be best saved for later. "For now, find us a way north through these bloody mountains. I have a good feeling about this, Farkas. We're close."

He smiled, kissed her again, and said nothing.

They got underway and followed the direction of the stone arch. The valley ran northeast rather than true north, but there was no other way through the sheer rock faces to either side for some hours, and then only to the south. The weather grew milder as they descended. Trees returned here and there, and with them the song of birds and an invigorating scent of pine. The travelers found that each step came easier while it lasted.

But the valley took a turn for the northwest, and led them beneath an arm of the Mortrag Glacier. The way between the ice and the rock was narrow and crooked; nothing lived here. The shadows grew long as they picked their way through glacial debris, but they resolved to press on in the hope of finding their way out before nightfall. Every now and then, a breeze would come wafting up the valley from the north, and carried with it a hint of salt. The sea was tantalizingly close.

Finally, they stumbled from a path of stone broken and ground under the ice to an expanse of pebbles worn smooth by the ceaseless churning of ocean waves. The noise of them boomed in their ears, and the rich odor of salt, seaweed, and fish filled their nostrils.

Ethne laughed aloud with joy and leaped to the top of a low mound of stone. The surf rushed below her. The Sea of Ghosts was cold as iron and wild as a winter storm, but nonetheless it transported her mind back to the gentler shores of the Iliac Bay, and her childhood. She beckoned Farkas up after her. They shucked their packs and stood together with their arms around each other, looking out to the horizon as the sun sank in the west, painting streaks of orange, purple, and gold across the sky.

Gradually, Ethne became aware of something at the edge of her vision to the left. She turned, and gasped, reflexively tightening her arm around her partner.

"What is it?" He turned abruptly, reacting to her alarm.

"Shh! Look. There's a man there."

He stood a little way along the shore from them, looking out to sea much as they had been. He wore nothing but ragged scraps of furs and seemed much hard done by.

"You don't think...?" Farkas spoke low.

"Only one way to find out. Wait here." She slipped down the rocks and approached with caution, hands held palms-out to her sides to show she wasn't a threat.

It was hardly necessary. The man took no notice of her until she was close enough to speak.

"Hello? Are you... are you Torkild, of the Skaal?"

He turned to her at the sound of his name, but his pale eyes seemed to stare straight through her. "Who... thirst for sky... All-Maker craves the night of sun."

Ethne's heart sank, but she refused to give up, not when she'd come so far. She extended a hand toward him and stepped slowly closer. "Torkild... my name is Ethne. Your brother Wulf asked me to find you. He's been looking for you."

His eyes wandered to her hand, then back to her face, all without seeming to really register what he was seeing. "He hears the underslake of blood dust!" A paroxysm of agony twisted his face into a snarl, and he doubled over. His shoulders visibly bulged.

"No!" Ethne darted forward even as she heard Farkas shout out a warning behind her. "No, no, no! Torkild, don't you dare!" She took his head in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Hang on!"

His breath rattled harshly in his throat. He seized her wrists in his quaking hands with a crushing grip. One clutched a tattered piece of parchment. His pale gold eyes bored into her pale green ones, and she understood. She worked one hand free to take his note, slowly, carefully. When she had it, he released her. He staggered back even as Farkas came up and thrust himself between them, sword bared.

Torkild transformed, unable to hold back the change any longer. He roared fiercely, spittle flying from his jaws, and threw himself at them with his hairy arms flung wide. Farkas' blade could not fail to find its mark, and under Torkild's great weight, it sank home to his heart.

Farkas was forced to let go of the hilt and fall back with a strained yell as the body collapsed to the ground, taking his sword with it.

Ethne stood transfixed, unable to react or even think, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

With an effort, Farkas rolled over the werebear that had been Torkild and pulled his sword free, then turned to his partner, her sadness reflected in his face. He went to her and pulled her close with his free arm, murmuring "Ethne, Ethne" for want of any better words to take away her pain. She clung to him, and he led her away.

He left her seated on the rock above the waves to scout the area for a likely resting place. There was fresh blood on his blade when he returned, and it was clear the small, icy cave where he took her had been occupied by a small clutch of Rieklings. He had dragged out their bodies and their junk to make the place more habitable for them. It was a chilly, unwelcoming site, but it was better than no cave at all.

Without speaking a word, Farkas did everything to see them fed and bedded down in relative comfort for the night. Having forced herself to eat, Ethne stared down at the note Torkild had given her.

_Dear Wulf,_

_I'm writing to you now as I already feel my mind going. I fear that soon I will not be able to write at all. I came to the wilderness to better know the All-Maker. But in the wilds I found a force greater than any we've known._

_It is seductive, this power I've been granted. I know you would not approve, so I don't dare show my face to you. But know that I realized the greatest potential of my strength before the last._

_I hope to one day meet you before the All-Maker, brother._

_\- Torkild_

When she couldn't bear to look at it any longer, she showed it to Farkas.

He read slowly, and it was longer still before he said, gently, "There was nothing you could have done."

"There should have been," she replied dully. "There was. Miraak's Shout, Bend Will—"

"No, Ethne. You said yourself it's not right to use that on people. Anyway, even if you'd done that, he was already gone. You can't save someone who's not there anymore."

"I know, but..." She held her empty hands out in front of her. "All the pieces were there. Everything to make it come out right. It's not fair!" She felt childish saying it, and more so when her shame was compounded by more tears. All she could do was hide her face.

"Eth..." Farkas shook his head helplessly and rubbed her back, up and down. "I knew you'd take it hard. But you shouldn't. We found him; that's something to be proud of. And in the end, I think..." he hesitated, but pressed on: "I think he wanted a clean death. The way he came at me, wide open like that. It was clean, and it was quick. It was honorable."

"Honor won't save him from Hircine. And what do we tell Wulf?"

"The truth. He'll understand. And if he doesn't, we were gonna get off this stupid island as fast as possible anyway."

He hadn't meant it to be funny, but Ethne chuckled bitterly. "You're right about that. I hate this place. In the south you can't breathe for the ash, and in the north you can't go two steps without running into Reavers or Rieklings or some other kind of trouble. I am so tired of everything being ugly all the time."

"You're also just tired, because it's late and it has been a very long day. Why don't you get to bed? I'll be right behind you."

She nodded, too spent to argue about doing her share of the chores, and crawled heavily into the furs. Tomorrow she'd make it up to him.

She was still awake when Farkas joined her, enveloping her with his strength and warmth, and she thought of how much she owed to him overall. He wouldn't consider for a moment that all his unflappable patience and support had a price, but that was why it was all the more important for her to balance the scales lest she take advantage of him—words she always heard in Vilkas' voice. How she would do it this time, she didn't know. She fell asleep wondering.

The problem kept her mind occupied during the return journey to the Skaal Village. Going by way of the Harstrad River, which was fordable between its two impressive falls, they made it in two relatively easy marches. On the morning of the second day, they surprised a buck near the Wind Stone and decided to take him so as not to return entirely empty-handed. The village had been generous to them, and it was only right to return some of their hospitality.

They were greeted warmly enough, although most of the villagers, who didn't know about their mission from Wulf, were more surprised than anything. As was Wulf himself, though for the opposite reason.

"My friends!" he cried, taking the field-dressed buck from them and laying it on the butcher's block. "I had not hoped to see you again so soon. Please, tell me, what news do you bring from the wilds?"

There was no sense in dragging it out. Ethne took Torkild's letter from inside her coat and gave it to him. "It's not the news you wanted. I'm sorry."

"What is...?" He read the message once, quickly, and then again, his face still, unreadable. "This is by his hand, for certain. It looks like I was right. He was taken in by that... Where did you find this?"

"Torkild gave it to me. Right before he—" Ethne couldn't continue and keep her dignity.

"He became a werebear and attacked," Farkas supplied.

Wulf's façade cracked. He raised a hand to shade his lowered eyes. "I... I understand. That's not an existence I would wish on anyone. I hope you gave him a swift end."

"I did."

"Good." He raised his head again, though his eyes and cheeks shone with tears. "Thank you for setting my mind to rest. Now I can hope the All-Maker will show mercy to him in the beyond."

"I hope so, too," Ethne said. She didn't believe their All-Maker was real—she'd seen too much of the power of Daedra and too little of anything else—but she wished she did.

In return for their service to him, Wulf invited them to stay in his house that night and tell him more of their adventure. He fed them a fantastic venison stew with the meat of their kill and imparted to them a few of his trade secrets as First Hunter of the Skaal. All in all, it was a pleasant, if sober, evening.

In the morning, they left the village for the last time and turned their feet south for home. They did stop at Thirsk for a night—Ethne insisted—and gave Kuvar their now week-old news of Bujold. He seemed heartened by it, though it was clear he was still angry with her, and he didn't hold himself blameless, either. The rest of the warriors were happy to hear that she was still alive and well, and that was enough for them to call for celebration. The mead hall had been cleared of all Riekling debris and restored to its former glory, and they were eager to show off its full range of hospitality to their guests. Everyone ate a little too much, got a little too drunk, sang a little too loud, and stayed up a little too late. It was a great night, well worth the delay setting out again in the morning for all it did to raise their spirits. Elmus even sent them off with a few bottles of his last batch of Ashfire Mead to take home to their friends in exchange for their promise that, if they ever got the chance, they'd send him juniper berries from the mainland.

It was roughly three days from Thirsk to Raven Rock by way of Brodir Grove (or what was left of it after the Red Year), and the pair made every effort to cut the time as short as possible. Travel in the ash barrens was complicated by poor footing, worse visibility, and the perpetual acid stink of the air, not to mention the odd ambush by ash hoppers. Those, at least, made for an easy if unusual meal, and their jelly would be worth a few coins to help pay for passage back to Windhelm.

Raven Rock was no longer the depressed, gloomy town it had been on their arrival. Ethne's early investigations into the Cult of Miraak had led her deep into the abandoned ebony mine that had been the life's blood of the settlement. What she found there related only indirectly to Miraak, but had opened up a whole new avenue for the miners. They had work and hope again, and everyone's eyes were a little brighter as a result. Of course, not being under constant attack by ash spawn nor being mind-controlled nightly also helped.

_I did this,_ Ethne told herself, returning the smiles and waves of the Dunmer who hailed her and Farkas as they passed. _Whatever else may have happened, I helped these people. That's not nothing._

And she couldn't have done it without her shield-brother, her partner, her dearest friend.

"Farkas, I've been thinking," she said as they stood looking over the bow of the _Northern Maiden_. She carved through the waves under a strong headwind from Vvardenfell. The wind tossed their hair and threw salt spray into their faces, but they were too happy to finally be at sea to care.

"Me, too." He grinned at her. This marked the second time in his life he'd sailed on the ocean, and he was relishing every second of it. "You first."

She was taken aback, and her curiosity was intense. However, she played along. "Well... we both want to go home and see everyone again, and that will be wonderful. But I thought, after that, what if we went away again for a while? Someplace nice, like Lake Ilinalta or the Aalto in Eastmarch; and we could just take it easy. No jobs, no dragons, no nothing. Just you, me, and some quiet bit of nowhere. Unless," she laughed nervously, "unless, of course, you wanted a break from _me_. I wouldn't blame you."

"Nope. Not what I was going to say."

He ruffled her hair, which was already hopelessly tangled by the wind and salt. She ducked and swatted at his hand, he lunged after her, and that started a frankly ridiculous chase around the deck. They slipped and stumbled with every wave and the sailors cursed at them for being underfoot, but that just spurred them on.

Farkas caught her on the stern of the ship and wrapped her in both arms from behind. "I have you now," he growled in her ear, "and I'm never letting you go. Understand?"

"Never?" Ethne said breathlessly. "That may make the rest of the voyage difficult."

"Too bad."

He kissed the curve of her neck, and with her arms pinned, all she could do was arch herself back against his body. The moment was not permitted a chance to blossom into anything more, though; the _Maiden_ bucked on the next wave, and they staggered apart to keep their balance.

Flushed and grinning, Ethne sat down on a coil of rope, and Farkas joined her.

"All right," Ethne said. "Your turn. What did you want to talk about?"

He was quiet for a spell, composing his words. "I like your idea," he said, "but what about after that?"

"What about it?"

"Well..." He turned shy. "You won't laugh if it's stupid?"

"Never, and I'm sure it's not, either." She took his hand and scooted closer. "Go on, I'm dying to hear it."

"Well," he started again, "I've been thinking I might not want to stay in Jorrvaskr. See..."

"You're not talking about retiring?" Ethne asked when he faltered. She was completely bewildered.

"No! I couldn't do that, and neither can you, Harbinger." He gave her a quick, teasing smile. "The Companions are for life. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wondered what it would be like to live somewhere else, without a bunch of brothers and sisters and whelps around all the time. There are some empty houses in Whiterun because of the war, or we could even build our own. Not too far away, though."

"No," she sighed, catching on. "I mean, yes! Yes, of course, love." She'd never been comfortable in the rooms she'd inherited from Kodlak anyway.

She would have embraced him, but he kept still and stopped her.

"There's more. I want to marry you properly. Then, if we had our own house, and the blessing of Mara, and a little peace and quiet sometimes, then maybe... we could have a family all our own, too?"

"Oh!" Ethne was both surprised and moved to hear him talk this way. She raised his hand up to her lips and kissed it. "Farkas, I would love to give you children, if that's what you want. Truly. I..."

Words failed her, and she expressed her very great affection by throwing herself at him with such enthusiasm that he fell onto his back, laughing his rich, deep laugh, and pulled her down with him. She planted kisses all over his face and grinned stupidly at him, and he grinned stupidly back.

A shadow loomed over them. "Ahem."

Ethne looked up over her shoulder. Captain Gyalund stood there with his fists planted on his hips. It was a stern pose, but his face gave him the lie. He was trying not to laugh.

"I hate to interrupt," he said, "but you're distracting my men. I'll thank you not to force me to throw you both overboard. It's bad luck."

"I'm sorry, Captain," Ethne said, though she wasn't at all. "My husband just asked me to move out with him."

Gyalund shook his head. "It's none of my affair. See that it stays that way!"

He went away, and the pair sheepishly picked themselves up and straightened their disheveled clothes. They went back to the foredeck and stood, hand in hand, looking out eagerly over the waves and toward the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Out of all the wonderful and awful things in _Skyrim_ , "Filial Bonds" is the quest that gave me enough feels that I started writing fanfiction again. Go figure.
> 
> First of all, Ethne's feelings about the conversation with Wulf are a mirror of mine. First his greeting, then his name, then his quest: it all seemed way too relevant to be coincidence, especially since my Dragonborn is a former werewolf running around with another former werewolf, and she still gets flak from random guards about it even though it was like a year ago in-game and a huge secret besides.
> 
> Then, the scene where Ethne and Farkas find Torkild, looking out to sea at sunset, is exactly how I found him in-game, and is the scene I was most motivated to write. It was very moving, and I was very upset when it seemed like killing him was the only option. Having done the Companions questline, I knew—and the characters would have known—that a cure for lycanthropy was possible. I was so sure I'd missed something that I actually did mind-control Torkild so I could get out of the fight and go look for another way. Of course there wasn't one, so I had to track him down again and put him out of his misery, and I felt terrible about it.
> 
> I was so mad that I started writing this with the intent of changing the outcome, supported by my research into the three very suspicious hagravens in the Altar of Thrond cave, who turned out, to my surprise and elation, to have actually been Glenmoril witches in _Morrowind_. When it came to the point, though, I decided the bittersweet, canon ending was better for my character and the story. Dragonborn or not, Ethne doesn't get to have everything go her way, and there was already more than a bit of plot convenience involved in finding both the hagravens and Torkild. *shrug* I hope it made for a good twist. {= )
> 
> It also plays into the sub-theme I've got going on with the couple's relationship, and sets up their conversation at the end, so it's all good!
> 
> Now, having started writing near the end of the tale of how they get together, maybe I should go back to the beginning....


End file.
